


know me way too well to keep it complicated

by robokittens



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2021 NHL Season, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, get ur pants on and get to the rink the season's starting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28742547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: "They're gonna wanna talk to you, you know. The press. Everyone's gonna be talking about it — about you. Think it's gonna be good things, Dyl? You want them to say good things about you? How good you are? How hard youtry?""Fuck," Dylan says.
Relationships: Alex DeBrincat/Dylan Strome
Comments: 6
Kudos: 97





	know me way too well to keep it complicated

**Author's Note:**

> you know what we're gonna do? we're gonna write about dstrome masturbating. we're gonna write it in like two hours before puck drop, and we're gonna title it after a carly rae jepsen song. that's just how we do now.
> 
> thanks, as always, to reserve.
> 
> LET'S FUCKIN GO, HAWKS.

"First line center," Alex croons. It's teasing, but it's not mean teasing. Maybe. It's hard to tell with Alex, sometimes. And mean isn't always — 

"First line yourself," Dylan snaps back. There's not any heat in it, partially because it's not like that's an _insult_ , partially because he's having a hard time tying his tie while also trying to watch Alex. Facetime is like … the screens aren't big enough if you're doing something else at the same time, if you're not just _looking_ at each other, but it seems dumb to break out the iPad when they're gonna see each other in like. Ten minutes. Alex is smirking at him, though, he can tell that much.

"Hey," he says abruptly. "Do you ever miss like. Carpooling?"

Alex laughs. "Do I miss waiting for your slow ass to make it out the door?"

"Do you miss watching me get ready?" He doesn't even mean to say it, but. The silence is … charged, all of a sudden. He looks over at his phone again, where it's propped up against the ugly lamp on the hotel desk. Alex looks … he looks intent, eyes bright. Focused. A little bit of a smirk on his lips.

"Still get to see it in the locker room," Alex says, voice low. "That's the good part."

Dylan snatches up his phone and sits down on the bed, heavy, his tie still draped loose around his neck. He can hear the hitch in his own breath when he asks, "Yeah? You gonna be watching?"

"I always do." It's like … it's hot, the way he says it, but just because it's so … matter of fact. Yeah, I watch you undress. Yeah, in front of all our teammates, where anyone could see me looking. He doesn't care that anyone could know. That everyone _does_ know, probably. Dylan swallows, forcefully enough that Alex can see it, from the way his smirk just deepens. "Why? Can't wait? You wanna show me now?"

Dylan's moving almost before Alex finishes his question, undoing his fly one-handed, hips shifting so he can pull his pants down. His hand hovers for just a second before he cups his dick through his briefs. He's not hard, but he's not … _not_ hard. His breath hitches, just a little.

"Flip the camera," Alex says. It takes Dylan a second to register what he means, and he hisses again when he takes his hand _off_ his dick to thumb at the screen, and then. There he is in the corner of his phone, and bigger on Alex's, pants shoved down around his knees and his dick pushing up through his briefs.

"You gonna take it out for me?" 

Dylan knew he was gonna ask. He does. There's no slit to pull his dick through so he shoves his briefs down awkwardly, waistband trapped under his balls. His eyes flit closed for just a second as he wraps his hand around his dick; but he wants to see Alex more than he doesn't want to see himself. 

"God." Alex laughs again, and it is a little mean this time. "You're so easy."

 _For you_ , Dylan thinks, but he swallows the words down. He doesn't need to give Alex anymore ammunition — and it's not like he doesn't know it. Not like he needs it. Dylan tugs at his foreskin, pulling it back, and his hips twitch up just a little.

"You think you're so hot. Don't you? Look at you, showing off like this. I barely even had to ask," Alex says. He's just … talking now. He'll keep talking as long as Dylan doesn't interrupt him, so he bites his lip. Wonders if Alex can hear the hitch in his breath when he does. It's … not as good, biting his own lips, obviously. Not as good as when Alex does it. And Alex — likes to bite. Dylan moves his hand a little faster, just thinking about it.

"Bet you'd like it if I did more than _look_ in the locker room, huh? Want me to corner you in the showers, where everyone could see? Want me to press you up in your stall in front of everyone? In front of the _press_?"

"Alex —" It slips past his lips, but Alex just laughs.

"Yeah. You miss those days, don't you? Everyone there while you're getting dressed again? Wet, still a little sweaty, down to your shorts? Or are the Zoom pressers working for you?"

There's no way Alex can't hear it this time, the breath Dylan sucks in, the shuddering way he lets it out. 

"They record those things, you know. You want it out on Twitter? _Again_? Fuck, Dyl, you're such a —"

Dylan says _yeah_ , maybe. He says something, groans it out as he tightens his grip on his dick, thumbs along the sensitive, soft head. His balls are tight against the elastic of his underwear, where the band digs into his skin.

"They're gonna wanna talk to you, you know. The press. Everyone's gonna be talking about it — about you. Think it's gonna be good things, Dyl? You want them to say good things about you? How good you are? How hard you _try_?"

" _Fuck_ ," Dylan says. His dick twitches in his hand. He thinks his other hand might be shaking too; he's not even sure if the video is — if his phone is even pointed where it should be. Where Alex wants it. He says " _Alex_ ," desperate.

"You want me to tell you? How good you are?"

"Please," Dylan whispers. His mouth aches. His _core_ aches; his _arm_ aches, from holding his phone up. He's not sure his fingers will be able to unclench from around it.

Alex hums, thoughtful. _Mean_. It's a very long moment before he says, "You can be. Are you gonna be tonight? For me?" Dylan's hip jerk up, and the camera must be aimed well enough for Alex to see _that_. "For the _team_ , Dyl? On the ice. Tonight. You gonna show everyone you've got it?"

"I —" It's the start of a sentence. Maybe just an exhale. Maybe just a sound.

"You do. You do, you know. Got it." Alex's voice is soft, for just a moment. "You're good. C'mon, Dyl. Come for me."

Dylan makes a choking sound somewhere low in his throat, curls forward over himself. He hears the dull clatter of his phone on the hardwood as he cups his other hand over the head of his dick. He can hear Alex urging him on; it's — louder, Dylan thinks distantly, clearer than maybe it should be. Like maybe his voice has been loud this whole time, loud enough that someone could hear it in the hallway maybe.

"Oh, fuck," he says, and he comes. For Alex. His jizz is thick and hot in his hand, leaking through his fingers where he can't quite keep them from shaking. He can hear Alex still, saying … something, something mean, something nice, he can't tell; it's just Alex, Alex, Alex's voice in his ear.

He pulls himself up, unsteady, glad there's tissues on the nightstand. He didn't — he doesn't think he got anything on his pants. On his boxers, maybe, but — that's. That's fine. He hisses a little as he eases himself back into them, balls still stinging a little from the elastic, a twitch of feeling right behind them that he ignores.

"You did good," he hears, from somewhere on the floor, from wherever he kicked his phone. "You're good. So good."


End file.
